**As one unit, simultaneously, walking corpses step through the Glooms into the dome. As they take their next step, the space behind is filled with more corpses. And more, and more. The ring of Undeath closes, inhabitants fleeing before it, until it reaches Dvarni. Fighting erupts in the streets...**

Saga 2015 will be entirely celebrating and drinking with nothing bad happening and no bad guys showing up at all ever

Signal bells alerted all throughout Dvarni, They started slow but soon the whole dome was alive with activity. Warryn and the Coshwoods were seen barking orders and delegating work. The general himself thanked Gerethenax that summer had begun and the elven conscription drive was well underway. He also silently thanked D'arven for his ritual sacrifice which had blessed the soil of the Heartlands. It could be the advantage that would buy them valuable time, after all a dome blessed with the power of life could not be welcome and comfortable for the undead.

The elves rallied, many dying in the early fighting but their intelligent sensibilities yearned for order. Their command gave it.

Elven militia swarmed the cramped streets, magic crackled in the air as lightning, fire, earth, light, shadow, life, meta and water magics, innate to the gifted beings, were cast. Fire elf mages worked on great destructive rituals, earth elf warriors took the front lines shoring up defences and evacuating civilians to the palace.

Still it was not enough.

The elves worked on a steady retreat, gradually moving back towards the keep like palace. They hammered the undead with sword, shield, and magic but even the most loyal began to doubt elven victory.

Then he arrived.

He strode through the ranks of elves unaided. Crown sat proudly upon his brow. His sword was unsheathed. The Phoenix.

He was followed by a procession of elves, each of them different and unregimented, in fact the only thing similar about them at all was the same dark and empty look in their eyes.

Alarms rose around The Font, those not already on suty and at their posts becoming alerted to the attacks.

Scrolls, trinkets, potions and weapons are gathered to passed out to the troops - the resources that they had accumulated from a dying world would be thrown into their defence.

Darvan moved swiftly to his preparation chambers, candles alight on his entrance, the shrines within the room hum with power as he begins to chant.Moments later his eyes aglow with white power he views the main battle field, a chunk of metal in his hands he begins.

One by one the weapons of those with some skill at fighting, and are engaged with the enemy, have their weapons imbued with the strength and power of Gravenail and Rift.

It was a small start, but it should help hold some of them at bay and raise the moral of the troops whilst he prepared with his lieutenants.

The group of Arch Mages begin looking into a method to ward the city limits, and then realising that a battle of raising a ward following by the enemy dispelling would be a countless waste of power one of the mages was assigned to scry for a suitable location to evacuate to.

The others left to support the city defences. Darvan gathered his trappings and left to support the High Lord and the Coshwoods, all the while wondering where the early warning was...

Kalist, Hope-Bringer, The Emissary of HopeLazar, God of DarknessD'arvan Weyoun of House Aerielys"Every man is guilty of all the good he didn't do"

**Around the second hour of the afternoon, Quayle appears within the throng in a outpouring of metamagic. His face is covered in black runes and his eyes widen at the scene and he scans the field for a few moments before sighting Erathil and D'arvan. Clutching his chest, he disappears, reappearing moments later near their group and moves towards them hurriedly but hopefully unthreateningly**

"Erathil...The Quarin are breaking through the domes, I don't think this is a battle that can be won but the Colourful Isle is now protected by Hope, her...his...their power destroyed all undead present in an instant and it is safe to teleport both there and back without threat of the Glooms. The current population of the island is only a hundred or so but it's the same size as this, and the other domes so could hopefully support an evacuation. Kar is coming here in a few minutes...he has the ability to teleport everyone within an 80' radius without having to expend additional power based on the amount of people, even if you want to make a stand here then we can at least evacuate everyone else.

A Serkanian stands in the middle of the battle, he is giving off a gentle blue glow.

He sits and watches as the masses fight and die. An Undead swings a mighty blow that passes cleanly throw him as if he wasn't there.

Disappointing

He walks towards Lord Erathil and the other Elves fighting alongside their King. Standing about 30 feet away, he stood watching for a few minutes, being struck multiple times by the horde of Undead that surround him.

I had hoped for so much more very disappointing indead.

Finally, he walks away passing right through any Undead that get in his way.

Slowly Dvarni was evacuated. High elf martyrs overchannelled to teleport as many elves as they could to what was once the colourful isle. Thousands of undead lay slain, blood and ichor a shallow pool which bathed the streets of the once great city.

The Coshwood's remained, struggling to maintain order, cast spells and fight. Flash, Temporil and River had done marvelously, but the orders came down that they too were to evacuate. High elf mages bearing the symbol of the royal guard took each by the hand with reverence, and with a flare of magic, they were gone.

Erry! Warryn shouted, smashing an undead with his shield, The hopeslayers are dead or retreated. Most of your guard have helped with the evacu- He cut off the head of a zombie -tion. What are my orders?

He looked over at the Phoenix King for a brief second before he was forced to refocus upon the undead.

The two elves fought, just as they had against the cult of eremine. Their wounds and scars accumulated slightly faster than they could be healed. The Diamond Elf Paladin had foregon the casting of spells except in dire circumstances now, he needed to keep all of his power in reserve.

Erathil remained calm, at least to all those who did not know him, but Warryn knew there was a disappointment in his eyes.

Within a minute they were practically the only living beings left in Dvarni.

Erry. If we leave. I am killing every undead in this dome. By Gerethenax's might I swear I will raise this city, and the earth will break apart and swallow this storm-damned army. They have sewn Velmaneth with salt and blood! It demands revenge!!

He seemed almost feverish, if one so impassive could. Magic hummed aroound his body as earth magics swelled up inside him.

On one side, an army of Undead. A creature like Ulairi would have little trouble fitting in with them.

On the other, the Elves and, more importantly, that they are going to the Colourful Isle, a place that needs purifying from the taint of Hope.

An interesting predicament but it mattered little, maybe some action here, as two of the Coshwood's face a great Despair, could further enhance the situation.

The Creature chants quietly and approaches the Diamond Elf General slowly. As the proud Coshwood busily fights a number of Undead, the creature places his palms on the back of the shinny Elf's head "Feel my Lords gift" (ooc: Gain Death Elf innates, healed by death, hurt by life).

A swirl of Death magic extends from the Undeads hands, imbuing Warryn (bleed to critical locations, right arm, right leg).

"Good luck Warryn Coshwood" The undead steps back, thinking "Maybe I will watch a little while longer, I think his suffering will be prolonged".....

"Dvarni was built over the course of a hundred years by all the races of the world then practically destroyed in moments by the actions of one man. It was rebuilt by the dedication of the Elven people in mere months. If we raise the city, will there be enough of us left to rebuild? If we leave it to the undead will we even be able to retake it alone or hold it if the lesser races stand against us?" Tell me brother, what would you do?

We are attached to our cities. They are what has caused us problems. We don't need buildings. We need land. This world is dying, our way of life is changing Erry. It is not grand. It is not luxurious. We have lost this city, and every city on Velmaneth the day the glooms took over. But while we have the earth, as weak and poisoned as it is becoming, we have a chance.

He swallowed the word 'hope'. He was simple, but not a cliche.

As for these.

Warryn stamped his foot on the ground and drew a huge breath.

STOP.

The ground rumbled slightly as both him and Onyx drew in all their remaining power. He had cleared himself a small circle of undead now, their death magics invigorating him and sustaining the fight.

His tone was laced with the magic of incantation. It was as if the mountains could speak, as if a rockslide could articulate, as if a volcano could roar.

You have threated my family. You have threatened my people. You have threatened my God. There is no forgiveness for this. There is no mercy. Your army is large. And pathetic. You cannot kill my Brother or I. We protect the Coshwood line. Children of Eremine. By the Earth I stand on. By the blood in my veins. By my faith. By my kin. May Velmaneth vent its wrath. May Dvarni fuel its rage. May my body act as the Hammer.I am Gerethenax's servant, guardian and pariah. And you haver earned his attentions!

He stamped his foot, the ground beneath cracking as he transfered ritual power all around. He hoped Erathil had taken his que to leave.

Erathil had taken his cue, but not to leave. The High Elf closed his eyes and reached out with his mind. Under his breath could just be heard the words:

“Size matters not”

Within Arnad Guarhoth the mountain once known as The Cloudlit Realm shook as an earthquake rocked it but instead of subsiding the quakes continued, rocking the mountain back and forth, back and forth gathering momentum until suddenly it began to move. With glacial slowness to begin with but quickly increasing like a snowball rolling down a hill the mountain was dragged west, along the path of devastation it had wreaked when it came to ground.

The huge rock, 40 miles across, ripped through the ground. Glooms and undead alike were torn asunder by the power that surrounded the mountain as it flattened the remains of the Arnad Guarhoth dome. The Broken House of Aquilla has never been more aptly named as the force of earth sundered everything in its path.

As the now deserted home of the Storm Elves reached the edge of the Heartlands, it dwarfed the great mountains that surrounded the Elven homeland, throwing them into shadow. As it struck the mountains, instead of breaking through them it left the surface of Velmaneth for its final journey.

The Heartlands had been thrown into shadow and that was enough to distract the sentient undead and the remaining living creatures enough to stop fighting for a few moments. As they looked to the sky, rocks and earth began to tumble, from the smallest pebble to the greatest boulders fell to earth, injuring or crushing indiscriminately as the mountain blocked out the sun.

A single drop of blood fell from Erathil’s nose and hit the floor. Seconds later the mountain came to earth, crushing the Heartlands beneath its massive base.

The world trembled and then was still as the greatest mountain on Velmaneth was returned to its original location: the centre of Pargon.